cataclysmic appetite
—THREE—
It's not that much later when I retreat to my room. I left the bodies in someone else's room, grinning as I hear them scream when they discover cold, pale corpses in their bathtub.
By the time sirens round the corner, I'm long gone, listening in on the conversations of the poor, unfortunate police officers who handle the homicide.
Homicide. Funny, big word for the saddest death ever. They didn't even get to come one last time before they went. Rest in peace. Or something like that.
Trees line the streets, and mortals of all ages scatter the streets. I'm not interested in children. Their blood is too pure, untainted by life. It's tasteless, bland. Never have I understood the fascination these humans conjure up about vampires and virgins. There is nothing about them that lure me in. Absolutely nothing. But as soon as a human has had sex? Experience? They change—morph into something different. Something deliciously dirty that I can't wait to sink my teeth into, their thoughts entertaining and bodies willing. God, they're so fucking easy.
I speed through neighborhoods and towns that seem too boring to investigate, until I'm at a harbor that's crowded with dark bars and brothels. It's like I'm bombarded back into the seventeen-hundreds, to a time when there were more nuns than hookers, and everybody's husband had a fucking mistress.
The entrance is as tacky as the building itself, and I take out a wad of cash to make my presence known. The woman who walks out of the door behind the counter seems to be a bloodhound for cash. Then again, all whores are. She's tall and blonde and I honestly couldn't care less about her. She reeks of cock and some scented lube that makes me want to hurl. No, not her. Not even after a shower.
"Good evening," she purrs my way. Deep green eyes trace the lines of my body, and she sees what all humans see before she floods her panties. Tempting, but no. Not her. Not even now.
"Who do you have tonight, darling?" I ask her.
"Depends on what you are in the mood for, sir."
"I'm in the mood for absolutely anything —no questions asked, no lurkers in the hallway." I throw her the rolled hundred dollar bills, her eyes almost the same color. It's impressive what money can make people do.
"Certainly, sir. Follow me, I'll show you the girls."
My hostess leads me to the lounge. It takes exactly twenty-three seconds before they're all lined up next to each other—competing for me, my cock. They're all in the line-up for my appetite. Since dinner was disappointing, I'm looking forward to having something particularly savory for dessert. Their hearts beat steadily before I zero in on them. They each get their one moment of fame that gets their cunts wet and minds dirty, but it's not until I see her that my curiosity is piqued.
She's petite and brunette, but none of that calls to me. It's her scent, the delectable—sinful—aroma of pure woman that I've been looking for. I call it the best scent in the world, because it's double the fun. She's bleeding already, and hiding it but unable to shield it from me.
I lick my lips, tongue tracing my sharp fangs before I smell her so vividly it's like I'm almost tasting her. It's a mixture of perfume, some vanilla based shampoo that I get a whiff of every time she turns her head, and blood. Dead blood, but still... She's unlike any human I sampled before. Although I want to strip her of the chemical scents. I want her pure.
"That one," I tell my hostess. She looks at me with kind, green eyes even though I interrupted her. But I don't need to see any more, not at all. It's that one, the bleeding beauty in lavender silk that barely covers her hard nipples.
"Bo, you're up." The blonde throws her hair over one bare, glistening shoulder. It masks Bo's aroma slightly, and I wonder if all whores drench themselves in essential oils nowadays. It's disgusting, appalling. But most of all, it's a delusion that seduces no one but mortals.
"The cash you gave me is good for the entire night. So feel free to do with her as you wish, Sir. She's all yours until eight in the morning."
As if this human could make me leave. It makes me chuckle.
Lady in lavender steps forward in high-heeled, poor quality sandals that make her stretch her back more, lift her chin up and create the illusion of legs that never seem to end. Although she's human and insanely different- night and day, she reminds me of her, but her beauty is minimal compared to my immortal lover's.
"Come," she purrs. Her voice is hoarse and sexy without her trying. There's no strain, the husky timbre is real and hypnotic. I bet she gets in the big bucks here.
I let the petite brunette lead me upstairs velvet blue stairs that have seen better days and into a dark hallway. She walks all the way to the end of the freshly-painted corridor that smells like latex-based paint until there's a midnight blue door with the sign 'Bluebell'.
As she opens it, gone is the tacky whore house, because this is designer upon designer. I can tell since there are labels, the scent in the air is leather and expensive, mixed with vanilla and Bo.
"This is me," Bo chuckles. She lets the door close behind her juicy ass before she turns the lock and stalks me like I'm her prey.